


When the Bullet Hits the Bone

by TeratoMarty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, No Smut, Permadeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeratoMarty/pseuds/TeratoMarty
Summary: The night weighs heavy on Spy's guilty mind.
Kudos: 11





	When the Bullet Hits the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd posted this ages ago.

At 2 AM, his gun still warm, Spy saw his mistake. There had been a series of them, sooner or later, but they had all sprung from one basic error.

He should never have started to trust Pauling.

His original contract had been laughable, almost a vacation. A toy war, with two tiny armies, set to attack or defend various irrelevant objectives. An absurd salary, and no risk of death, what fun! Or rather, death was constant, but not permanent. Eighteen people, killed and cloned a dozen times a day- a madhouse, but entertaining.

When Pauling had begun issuing contracts for kills beyond the bases, Spy thought that he had discerned the real plan. How better to learn than by trial and error? Respawn had let Spy hone his art to excellence.

Or so he had thought. Contemplating the corpse on the floor, head toward the door, he could see that he had gotten careless in some areas. Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he wondered why she had done it. Maybe she was tired of taking chances. If that were the case, though, why meet him here, in this wretched hotel? This far from the border line of respawn, death would be permanent. For him, he knew, as well as for her. Perhaps she had been counting on that- truly tired of taking chances.

Her hair was coming out of its bun, glasses sliding down her nose- exactly the look of harried competence that had earned his respect. He had been happy to help her with the occasional little problem- and that was where trust had crept in, with the belief that she trusted him. So few people had. The gory hole in her chest was testament to the fact that if she had ever trusted him, she had been as wrong as he was.

It occurred to him that he should make a phone call. His own equipment, MannCo issued, was obviously out of the question. Even if this hadn’t been the case for Pauling’s satellite phone, it had been damaged when he shot her. He picked up the phone on the bedside table, and felt a sense of the inevitable when it proved to have no dial tone. But of course. He stubbed out his cigarette. All circuits dead, Spy sat wrapped in silence and pondered his next move. 

There were terribly few he could make. Pauling had betrayed him- he was a dead man whether or not she lived to see it through. He knew who she would have chosen to send after him- brutal and efficient, the only man who was his equal in assassination. Not that he would ever admit as much aloud.

“Where are you?” he mused.

Lighting another cigarette, he stood up straight. He still had some time- until dawn, perhaps. He straightened up Pauling’s corpse, tucking her hair behind her ears, crossing her arms, closing her eyes and replacing her glasses.

Then he saw to his own appearance, insofar as was possible. Stripping bare to the waist, he removed his balaclava, washed his face, shaved. He put on a fresh shirt, a clean mask; there was nothing to be done for the powder burns and blood spatter on his suit coat, so he left it off. He knotted a new tie around his neck with practised grace. After pausing to examine the result in a mirror, he decided it would have to do.

He opened the curtains, the door, even the tiny window in the bathroom, letting yellow light bleed out into the darkness of the parking lot. He regretted that he lacked a bottle of wine, but this had not been supposed to be that sort of rendezvous. Finally, he lay down on the floor, head beside Pauling’s, feet toward the door, and bit down hard to crack the false tooth that held the cyanide capsule.

Two hours later, in the pre-dawn gloom, a lean figure stalked around the edge of the parking lot, closing in on the glare from the open door. A powerful rifle was slung across the man’s back, his hand on the hilt of a wicked blade sheathed at his side. He approached slowly, with many pauses, expecting a trap, a trick. Although he could no longer see inside the room from this angle, he watched the wedge of light for any shadow, any flicker of movement from within. There was none.

After a long moment just outside the edge of the light, the hitman entered the room, blade-first. Neither of the figures on the floor moved. He prodded the sole of Spy’s shoe with the point of his kukri, but he knew dead when he saw it. “You’ve damn well cheated me one last time, Spook.”

**Author's Note:**

> Who knew that I would write songfic? [Listen to the song here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaS3vbfOLJI) Bonus points if you knew what song it was going to be before clicking the link.


End file.
